


Nothing Says Christmas Like Baby Jesus On Your Left Nipple

by heartsdesire456



Series: 25 Days of Fandom [7]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 18:57:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2743526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsdesire456/pseuds/heartsdesire456
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aramis takes Porthos shopping for clothes for Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Says Christmas Like Baby Jesus On Your Left Nipple

**Author's Note:**

> This one is a request my Wifey made for the 25 Days of Fandom series!
> 
> I've never written this pairing (or read the fics) but I love the show and I'm expanding my usual writing repertoire for this series of 25 non-related fics in various fandoms of various pairings before Christmas. Figured why not write Portamis too?

Porthos groaned as Aramis led the way through the sliding doors of the first store. “I cannot believe I let you talk me into this.”

Aramis tutted, taking off his sunglasses to put on top of his head as they entered the building. “I don’t know what you’re complaining about so much. I’m buying you clothes!”

Porthos glared. “I don’t want clothes.”

Aramis smirked, sliding his hand into the crook of Porthos’s elbow, tugging him towards the men’s clothing. “Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?” Aramis asked and Porthos huffed.

“That’s what you asked me the last time we almost got arrested,” he argued. 

Aramis shrugged. “It was fun though-“

“I got _pepper sprayed_!” Porthos argued and Aramis snickered.

“Yeah, and that was hilarious.” Porthos glared but Aramis didn’t say anything else as he dragged him towards a rack of clothes. 

Porthos followed Aramis, giving him a grumpy look the whole time even as he obediently held out his arms and let Aramis load him up with clothes. “Look, much more and I’ll have to throw out all my clothes to fit these in my closet.”

Aramis winked. “That’s the idea,” he said as he flattened his hands to Porthos’s back and marched him towards the dressing rooms. “Come on. I want a well-dressed Porthos when we go to my parents’ house for Christmas.”

Porthos sighed, shaking his head, curls bouncing. “I hate you so much sometimes,” he grumbled as Aramis shoved him into a changing stall. 

“Yes, yes, I know you do, you tell me often.”

Porthos turned around and raised an eyebrow as Aramis walked right up to the doorway. “What, are you going to come in with me?” he asked and Aramis smirked. He opened his mouth and Porthos rolled his eyes. “ _No_ ,” he said, then shut the door in Aramis’s face. 

“Spoil sport!” he called through the door. 

After trying on and parading around several outfits, some that met Aramis’s approval and some that didn’t, Porthos thought he was _finally_ done. “Alright,” he said, coming out to hand Aramis the last pair of pants. “Can we _please_ go now? I’m hungry and it’s hot and I hate you.”

Aramis tutted, but stood up from the chair he’d been sitting on outside the dressing rooms. “You’re such a baby,” he teased. He held out one last item, exchanging it for the pants. “Last thing.”

Porthos eyed him suspiciously. “Promises?”

Aramis nodded sweetly. “I promise.”

Porthos went back into the stall and put on the top he’d been handed, only to stop when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He flung the door open and glared at Aramis. “ _No!_ ” he growled, eyes narrowed.

Aramis snickered. “But you look so nice-“

“There is a _Nativity scene on my chest_!” Porthos exclaimed. “This is not just a bad Christmas jumper, but one that will probably send you to hell. Good job, Aramis.”

Aramis smirked. “I dunno, I think you look nice in it,” he said, grabbing the bottom hem to pull the image flat. “Little baby Jesus fits perfectly over your left nipple.”

Porthos gave him a look that would scar lesser men. “I’m actually going to leave you on day, you realize this, right?”

Aramis tutted, releasing the hem of the jumper to slide his arms around Porthos’s middle. “Sure you are.”

Porthos’s grumpy look verged on a pout as Aramis stepped closer, almost chest to chest. “I am,” he reaffirmed and Aramis’s smirk grew. “In fact, I’m gonna do it right now, after I get out of this ridiculous jumper.”

Aramis just hummed, tipping his chin up some so that his lips almost brushed Porthos’s. “Are you now?”

Porthos swallowed, wavering slightly. “Yes I am.”

Aramis tipped his face forward and pressed a chaste kiss to Porthos’s lips. “What about now?”

“Still gonna leave you,” Porthos mumbled, though his eyes were half-lidded as he looked own at Aramis’s lips.

Aramis curled his arms fully around Porthos’s middle, pressing their bodies together from chest to knees. “You love me too much to leave me, Porthos,” he said in a low rumble, knowing what that tone did to Porthos. “You’ve been making the same threat for two years.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve been a cock for two years,” Porthos argued, big, brown eyes full of the struggle between giving up the fight and not wanting to be the one to back down.

Aramis kissed him again, with a bit more pressure this time, reaching up to curl a hand around the back of his head. “Are you still gonna be making this threat when we get married?” he asked, plucking absently at one of Porthos’s soft, springy curls. 

Porthos scoffed. “I’m definitely never marrying you-“

“I know about the ring, you’re going to marry me one day,” Aramis argued and Porthos rolled his eyes.

“Psh, yeah right, that’s my _granddad’s_ ring. It’s a family heirloom, not an engagement ring.”

Aramis gave him a teasing, playful look. “Then why did my mum say you called to ask what my ring size is?” he countered and Porthos growled.

“She said she wouldn’t tell!” he complained, then pulled away from Aramis, rubbing a hand over his head. “Alright, whatever. I’m still not buying this,” he said, plucking at the jumper.

Aramis crossed his arms and cleared his throat expectantly as Porthos headed back into the changing stall. “Eh-hem. Don’t you have something to ask me?”

Porthos shot him a flat look. “If I’m gonna stick myself with you, I’m damn well not having the story I tell my grandkids one day involving the fitting rooms at the shops and baby Jesus on my left nipple, Aramis, so you can chill the fuck out right now, you impatient bastard.”

Aramis burst out laughing and Porthos just slammed the door in his face as a reply.


End file.
